Daughter of Riches

by Janet Tanner

  When Robin had eventually left, slamming the door and screaming away down the drive, Louis’s mood had become even more peculiar.

  ‘So you want to see La Grange?’ he had said and he had taken her on a tour of the downstairs rooms, showing her each one not so much with pride as with gloating. This is my home, he seemed to be saying, one day this will all be mine. But take a good look, Debbie baby, because you won’t be seeing it again.

  She had gone with him, mute with misery, and in the drawing-room he had made love to her on the priceless Aubusson rug. Made love? No, those were not the words to describe that act. There was something cold and vengeful in the way he took her, something almost evil, and suddenly she had realised what it was. The gloating had not only been for showing her a life in which he had no intention of letting her share, rather it was as if he was showing her to the house, without love, without respect, without anything but a desire to defile. She had not fully understood it at the time, that had only come to her painfully over the years as she learned and accepted the truth about Louis, but she had known it instinctively then and it had hurt her so deeply it had made her physically sick. She had gone to the bathroom, that elegant Victorian-style bathroom, and retched helplessly into the blue-and-white ‘Express’ bowl.

  When the spasm had passed she had washed her face and gone back downstairs. She could hear Louis’s voice coming from the study and she guessed he was on the telephone again. She followed the sound of his voice. Her mind was made up. ‘ Please take me home,’ she was going to say. ‘I won’t be your pawn any more.’

  Louis was sprawling elegantly back against the desk, speaking into the heavy black receiver as he cradled it into his shoulder.

  ‘Yes, darling, I’ll see you soon. Tomorrow?’ she heard him say. She froze. Already tonight she had learned that Louis was far from faithful to her but it was still a shock that he could actually telephone one of his lady friends while she was in the house. He looked up and saw her and smiled, not in the least perturbed at being caught red-handed. Then he turned his back, shutting her out. ‘Love you too, Kitten.’

  Kitten. If he had struck her she could not have been more shocked or hurt. It was his name for her, the special pet name that had made her feel so wanted, so loved. Now he was using it for some other woman. Quite suddenly the last slender thread that had been keeping Debbie’s reactions under control snapped.

  Earlier, showing her around, Louis had opened a drawer in the desk and shown her a little gun he kept there – showing off as usual, playing a role. Now she ran across the room, jerked open the drawer and snatched the gun out, pointing it at him.

  ‘Put that phone down! Hang up, do you hear?’

  Louis almost laughed, then turned pale. It must have been in that moment, she supposed, that he remembered the gun was loaded.

  ‘I have to go now. I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said into the mouthpiece.

  She stood unwavering, the gun pointing at his chest.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘No one. Now don’t be a silly girl. Give me that gun.’

  ‘Who was it? Was it Molly?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. Now look, Kitten, give it to me. It’s not a toy.’

  ‘Don’t call me Kitten! Don’t ever call me Kitten again! I hate you, Louis!’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody melodramatic’ He was pale, but in an effort to defuse the situation he walked out of the study, along the hall towards the drawing room. She followed him, still holding the gun.

  ‘You’ve used me!’ she sobbed. ‘How could you do this to me, Louis? I loved you so much and all the time … how many others are there? How many?’

  ‘Calm down, for Christsakes! Just calm down!’

  ‘I am calm.’ But she wasn’t. She was shaking and sobbing.

  ‘Kitten …’

  ‘Don’t call me …!’

  And that was when the gun went off.

  She hadn’t meant to do it. She’d only meant to frighten him. She screamed at the crack, screamed again as the bullet hit him and the blood spurted scarlet on to his white shirt front. He went down slowly, sagging like a sack of potatoes, his expression more surprised than anything, the only sounds a choking, gurgling glug, and his breath rasping in the quiet house.

  ‘Louis! My God – Louis!’ She dropped the gun, running to him, falling to her knees beside him. ‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean to … Louis!’ She lifted his head, cradling it in her lap. ‘Louis – please – please, Louis!’

  But within a matter of minutes, less maybe, the awful rasping breathing shuddered and stopped. Louis was dead. Debbie screamed again as she realised it. scrambling to her feet, relinquishing all contact with him as if he had suddenly become too searingly hot to touch. She backed away from him, hands covering her tear-streaked, mascara-stained face. She crossed the hall, bumped into the door, fumbled for the handle. The door swung open and she ran down the steps to where Louis had left his car. The November night was chilly but she did not notice it. She yanked open the car door, half-fell into the driver’s seat. Louis had left the keys in the ignition; she turned it on, let out the clutch and the car surged forward.

  How she managed not to be stopped by the police that night Debbie never knew. She was not much of a driver, she had never passed a test though she had her own car in London, and she seldom drove anywhere. Now desperation made her reckless, and surprisingly she yanked up from the depth skills she had not known she possessed. She drove like a wild thing, all accelerator and brakes, squealing tyres and crashing gears, but at first she did not know where she was going. Anywhere, as far as possible from La Grange! Then, as she hit the outskirts of St Helier, the plan occurred to her.

  She was booked in at the Pomme d’Or Hotel. Almost opposite it, beside the harbour, was a public car park. If she left Louis’s car there no one would connect it with her and certainly no one at the hotel would connect her with him.

  Sometimes the car park was full, tonight luckily there were a few spaces. Debbie drove into one, summoning up all her concentration to make sure she did not collide with the neighbouring cars. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. Then she locked it, threw the keys into a nearby rubbish bin and dodged the thin stream of late night traffic to run across the road to the hotel.

  No one took the slightest notice of her as she scurried through the lobby and up the broad staircase. When she had gone out earlier she had forgotten to hand her key in to Reception. Now she thanked her lucky stars for that. She didn’t think she could have faced speaking to anyone just now, not even an anonymous hotel clerk.

  In her room she leaned against the door for a moment, feeling the remains of her self-control drain out of her, then she went into the en suite bathroom, ran a bath and climbed into it, scrubbing herself feverishly because she felt she would never be clean again.

  After a while the hot water relaxed her body a little but her emotions still churned in an oddly heavy and numbed fashion. Tears filled her eyes. She got out of the bath, swallowed a handful of tablets, and paced the room, Then, when exhaustion and the effects of the tablets began to creep up on her she crawled into bed and eventually, curled protectively in the foetal position, she fell asleep.

  Next morning as the news of Louis’s death was breaking Debbie flew out of Jersey. At that time she had no idea of the family mayhem she was leaving behind.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Juliet said. ‘You’re making it up.’

  ‘No. I only wish I were, but I’m afraid it’s quite true. I shot Louis. I didn’t mean to do it. I only meant to frighten him – punish him – I don’t know. I certainly did not intend to kill him. I didn’t even wish him dead – not really. I was besotted with him. That’s the ironic part of it, really. Practically everyone else hated him. His death was the answer to an awful lot of prayers. Apart from his mother and perhaps Molly, I think I was the only person who really grieved for Louis. Yet I was the one who killed him.’

  ‘I
see.’ It was true, Juliet thought, she had been busy looking for someone who had hated Louis enough to kill him and she had forgotten that love – obsessive love – could be an even stronger motive. But of course there was a great deal more to this than simply solving the puzzle. ‘You killed Louis,’ she said slowly, ‘ but Grandma confessed. Why should she do that?’

  ‘Because she believed Robin – your father – had done it.’

  ‘She didn’t only confess – she went to prison for it. How could you let that happen?’

  Deborah crossed to the window so that she was no longer looking at Juliet and the whole of her stance seemed to change in some mysterious way so that she looked not self-possessed and totally sophisticated, but young and vulnerable as if her memories had somehow transformed her once more into the young girl she had once been.

  ‘I’ve never been able to forgive myself for that,’ she said softly, speaking more to herself than to Juliet. ‘I’ve spent my life trying to make it up to her but I know I never can.’

  ‘I should think not! My God, Deborah, she went to prison for you! Didn’t you know what was happening? Why the hell didn’t you have the decency to own up?’

  ‘I didn’t know she had confessed – truly I didn’t. I flew back to London but I knew I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t go on living in the house with Louis dead and anyway I was afraid the man who had been threatening Louis over his debts might come back. Besides, I wanted to cut all contact. A girl I had known at a club I used to work at was going to the USA, to Las Vegas, and I went with her. Big as the story of Louis’s death was over here it wasn’t big enough to reach the USA. By the time I got to hear what had happened Sophia’s trial was over. I couldn’t understand why she should have confessed, it made no sense to me. I followed it up, tried to find out and put things right. That was when I met David.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Juliet shouted. ‘This just gets worse and worse! You mean to tell me that you not only let my grandmother serve a sentence for you, you then wangled your way into the family by marrying David. You’re disgusting! Well, I think it’s time Grandma knew all about you. I think it’s time she found out what sort of person she has had living under her roof all these years.’

  ‘Oh Juliet!’ Deborah turned. ‘You still don’t understand, do you? Your grandmother knows – she’s known all along – well, almost all along.’

  Juliet blinked. ‘But you said she confessed because she thought Dad …’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. Robin had found out just that night that Molly, your mother, and Louis were having an affair. He had left the house in a terrible temper, intending to have it out with Louis, threatening to kill him. Eventually Molly telephoned here in a terrible state because he had not come home and she didn’t know where he was, and your Grandmother, who had just found Louis’s body, came to the wrong conclusion. She decided to take the blame rather than let the police arrest Robin.’

  ‘But why didn’t she change her story and tell the truth when she discovered that it was you?’

  ‘I think you’d better ask her that.’

  ‘No! I’m asking you! I don’t understand how you could allow something like that. What sort of person are you, Deborah?’

  ‘At the time I was very young, very alone and very frightened.’

  ‘You’re not any of those things now.’

  ‘No, it’s true, I’m not. But let me tell you what happened. I went to see your grandmother in prison. I tried to explain to her what had happened. I got so far and then she stopped me. She said she did not want to know. The one thing she did ask was that we should keep in touch. I visited her regularly and when she came home to Jersey I used to come over to see her. I met David and we fell in love.’

  ‘And Grandma didn’t mind?’

  ‘She’s a very special person, Juliet. No, she didn’t mind. She was actually pleased. We had grown very close, she and I. She’s been far more of a mother to me than my own ever was.’

  ‘Does David know?’

  ‘No. And I hope he never will.’

  ‘That’s deceitful too, isn’t it?’

  ‘What useful purpose would it serve? Oh yes, perhaps it is deceitful. But it’s the way Sophia and I want it. And who are you, Juliet, to come here and judge us?’

  It was a cry from the heart. Juliet, shaken to the core, did not know how to answer it.

  ‘Oh my dear!’ Sophia said. ‘Oh my dear, I am so sorry you have been so upset by all this.’

  She and Juliet were in her room; Deborah had gone up and quietly told her what had happened, and now grandmother and granddaughter were alone.

  ‘I’m not upset for me, Grandma! I’m upset for you!’ Juliet said vehemently. ‘How could you go on letting the world believe: you killed Uncle Louis when you knew very well …’

  Sophia smiled, a faint faraway sort of smile.

  ‘A lot of reasons, I suppose, really. Firstly because Deborah reminded me of myself. She really was very young then, you know, and very frightened. She had had a terrible childhood, a mother who didn’t want her, no father, then a succession of men taking advantage of her.’

  ‘But surely that wasn’t in the least like you, Grandma. I understand you had a very happy family.’

  ‘Yes, I did. But I do assure you, Juliet, I knew only too well what it was to be alone and terrified. Heaven knows I once came very close to shooting someone – by design, not by accident. Sometimes I wish I had.’ She broke off and with a rush of discomfort Juliet realised she was remembering the German who, according to Catherine, had raped her during the war.

  ‘Was that the only reason?’ Juliet asked. ‘Because you empathised with her?’

  ‘No, there were two other very good reasons. One, I felt responsible in a way. Louis was my son and he had treated her very badly. I was ashamed of him. I couldn’t blame Deborah for what she did – I am very much afraid Louis asked for what he got, though I don’t think for one moment it was her intention to kill him. And lastly David was in love with her. I didn’t want to blight things between them. Besides, it was a little late to start making waves. I’d served a very light sentence – much lighter than Deborah would have got, I’m sure. Say what you like, background does make a difference and the justices were biassed very much in my favour.’

  ‘But Grandma, you’ve gone on letting everyone think that you …’

  ‘What good would it have done to re-open it all again?’

  ‘It would have cleared your name!’

  Sophia laughed. ‘That is the least of my worries. I realised a long while ago that caring what people think is a great handicap. Perhaps if I hadn’t tried so hard to cover up the fact that Louis’s father was German none of this would have happened. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.’

  Juliet shook her head in bewilderment. Her grandmother’s reasoning was almost beyond her yet she admired her for it all the same.

  ‘What about Dad? Why did he and Mama go to Australia?’

  ‘To get away, of course, there’s no doubt about that. They wanted to leave behind the bad memories and the shame and make a fresh start. And of course your father had a very serious side to him. He was shocked, I think, by the whole thing. At the time I took it for guilt. But then I misjudged him, didn’t I? Another mistake. I should have apologised to him years ago, I suppose. But I couldn’t really, without implicating Deborah, and I didn’t want to do that.’

  ‘Well, Grandma, I have to say I think you are very wrong. I think the truth should be told and your name cleared.’

  ‘Oh Juliet, Juliet, you are so young and fierce! Look a little further than your nose, my dear. What good would it do now? And besides, I think I have gained far more than I have lost. I have already said I don’t much care about what people may think – there are plenty of things in life much more important than that. And see the good things that have come out of it all! I have a wonderful daughter-in-law who has been more to me than I could ever have hoped for, and because of what we s
hare we are far closer than most blood relatives could ever be. No, without a doubt, my dear, I have been a winner in all this. So won’t you please just let it all die before you upset the applecart completely!’

  Juliet nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  She did not agree. Not completely. But one thing was clear. With her generous spirit her grandmother was indeed a winner, loved by all who knew her. Perhaps in the end that was really all that mattered.

  Chapter thirty-eight

  ‘Do you know, I dreamed about Nicky the other night,’ Viv said.

  She and Paul were sitting in the garden enjoying a drink and the last of the evening sunshine but at her words a shadow crossed Paul’s face.

  ‘Really?’ he said, taking a quick slurp of his whisky.

  ‘Yes. It was as if we were all young again in the days before the war. I don’t know what made me dream it – Juliet coming here, perhaps, and talking about the past. When I woke first it all seemed so real, almost as if I could reach out and touch it all. And then I suddenly realised – it’s nearly fifty years since those days. Fifty years, Paul – a lifetime!’

  ‘Yes.’ The sadness was still there in his voice. ‘ But they cast a long shadow, don’t they?’

  Viv turned to look at him. Her green eyes were sharp with remembered joy and sorrow but also with something else, a tenderness for so much that they had shared; so much that perhaps they had failed to appreciate.